


Character Portraits

by averita



Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-18
Updated: 2011-11-18
Packaged: 2017-10-26 06:05:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/averita/pseuds/averita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is just another part of the painting, and fills her space well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Character Portraits

**Author's Note:**

> Not explicit, but in my mind it's set shortly after Father's Day for Nine and Rose, and about 3 years pre-School Reunion for Sarah Jane.

There’s a park five minutes from her house, small but crowded on nice days, and across the street sits a tea shop with cushioned chairs and a covered patio. When the sky is particularly blue, or the house feels too empty (that’s less often, now, or maybe she’s just gotten better at ignoring it), she’ll walk down with her notebook and settle herself in the shade.

The characters in the park don’t change very much. She likes that. There’s the man with the newspaper, usually in a suit and always clean-shaven; the old lady, puttering along with her friend and a pack of dogs; the children in indistinguishable uniforms, laughing and arguing and kicking footballs carelessly. She is just another part of the painting, and fills her space well.

She notes a young couple across the street, seated quietly on a bench and sharing chips. The man, tall and wearing a leather jacket, is watching the girl intently; no one seems to pay them any attention but her. There must be at least fifteen years between them, she thinks, but there’s something heavy hidden in the girl’s face. It’s not unlike what she sees in the lines of her own every morning. As she watches, the man says something; she thinks she sees something familiar in his expression as well, something she can’t place.

Her tea, only half-drunk, is getting cold. She returns to her notebook with a bitter taste in her mouth.

Sarah Jane tells stories; that’s what she does, has always done. Once she thought they’d change the world. It took a long time to realize that there’s no audience for the stories worth telling, but she writes them anyway, and saves them in files along with the half-fiction and far more believable published versions. She’s gained a prestigious reputation over the years.

When she looks up again some time later, the man with the newspaper is gone and the sun has made the dogs sleepy. She vaguely ponders bringing K-9 here sometime, just to see the expressions on peoples’ faces; her lip quirks as she imagines trying to convince him to wear a leash, and dismisses the idea before it fully forms.

The man and woman are leaving. They’re laughing as they walk down the sidewalk, faces shining now that they’re out from under the shade. As she watches the girl takes the man's hand, beaming up at him with slightly crooked teeth, and the man's walk instantly shifts to something like a swagger.

There’s nothing special about them at all, Sarah realizes. They, too, are just characters in the scene.


End file.
